


Perfectly Charming

by janeofarc



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, i did not proofread, i just wanted them to be cuddly and precious okay, this is extremely stupid, this will give you cavities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 22:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14703525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janeofarc/pseuds/janeofarc
Summary: In which Holmes does something foolish, Watson is long-suffering, and Holmes' hat is collateral damage.





	Perfectly Charming

It was a cold, damp day near the end of October, the kind of weather that typically brought an ache to my shoulder and a weight to my heart, but on this particular evening I sat curled before the fire, perfectly content with a cup of tea in one hand and a medical journal in the other. The patients I had seen that day were all recovering well, that morning Holmes had been energetic and in good spirits with a new case on—all that I needed to achieve perfect happiness, I thought, was the arrival of my dear Holmes, back from his busy day of investigating and inquiries. 

At least, that seemed a perfectly charming notion at the time. 

I sat comfortably in my armchair, occasionally slipping into a light sleep, my eyelids heavy with warmth and contentment—that is, until my soporific peace was disturbed by a heavy thump and a shrill cry from down the stairs. 

“What on earth—what have you done?” cried Mrs. Hudson, her voice piercing the thick haze of quiet which reigned in 221B. 

Must be one of the Irregulars tracking in mud or the like, I thought to myself, she was in a right state when Billy came in Thursday last with charcoal all over his trousers. 

I waited to hear the youthful voice of one of the boys, but I was greeted instead by a sound that made me groan in chagrined frustration. 

“Now, Mrs. Hudson, don’t be so cross!” came the unmistakable voice of my friend Holmes, his tone half irritated and half amused. “I shall go up straight away,” he continued, “and trouble you no more.” 

I heard his footsteps on the stairs, muffled by Mrs. Hudson’s futile protestations and irritated mutterings—he was coming up to trouble me, instead. I took a deep breath in preparation for whatever Holmes was about to bring through our door—but he, as always, managed to surprise me nonetheless. 

The door swung open and there stood Sherlock Holmes, grinning sheepishly at me through the errant mop of wet, nearly frozen curls which had fallen down onto his forehead—and it only got worse from there. His head was perhaps the driest part of his body—everything from his collar to his shoes was absolutely soaked; each minute gesture or movement sent beads of freezing water scattering to the floor, tiny waterfalls dripped off the tips of his cold-reddened fingers, and his teeth chattered even as he gave me his most appeasing smile. 

“Hello, darling,” he said sweetly, striding through the door and tossing his misshapen, waterlogged hat onto the grate--it missed its mark and tumbled into the fire. Holmes shrugged and grinned at me helplessly and I gaped at him, momentarily unable to speak. I shot up out of my chair, my hands thrown up in disbelieving irritation. 

“Hello, darling?!” I cried incredulously, even as my hands searched out his frozen ones, attempting to infuse some warmth back into his icy fingers. “Care to explain?” I cried, torn between worry and anger. 

“I simply had to obtain a piece of evidence, Watson, there was nothing to be done,” he said resignedly, pulling his hands from mine and beginning to struggle with the buttons on his coat. I swatted his hands away and began undoing them myself. 

“And this clue was where, exactly?” 

“In the Thames,” Holmes declared, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

“The Thames!” I cried, stricken. “Surely you must be joking, Holmes—the water must be nearly to freezing, what on earth were you thinking?!” My worry twisted into anger at the reckless way he had endangered his own life, and I forced the sopping coat from his shoulders with perhaps more vigor than was strictly necessary, tossing it carelessly onto the grate to dry. I met his eye, and I saw in his face that he had clearly read the emotions written on mine. He opened his mouth to continue explaining himself, but I silenced him. 

“I don’t care, Holmes, to hear your rationale at the moment,” I said hotly, pushing him toward his bedroom. “You fool, you could have frozen to death—and then what would we have done! Get out of those things immediately, you’ll catch your death if you stand about soaking wet as you are.”

We made quick work of his ruined clothing, the lot of it ending up in an unceremonious heap on the floor, and I bundled Holmes roughly into his night shirt and dressing gown. He remained silent and allowed me to attend to him—perhaps realizing that I was not quite in the mood to appreciate whatever brilliant deduction had led him to leap head-first into a freezing river on the coldest day yet of the season. The moment I had finished dressing Holmes he rushed into the sitting room to press himself near the fire, and at the sight of his long limbs folding up around themselves in a desperate attempt to warm his freezing body, the hot anger that flushed in my breast suddenly gave way to the icy grip of belated fear and I ran to him, sitting down beside him and pulling him roughly into my arms. 

He turned to me gratefully, pressing every bit of his exposed skin to mine, seeking out warmth anywhere he could find it, and I let him nestle closer, relief overpowering discomfort as he pressed his cold face into my neck.

“You’ll be alright,” I whispered, more from my benefit than Holmes’, my hand curling instinctively into his still-damp hair. “thank God,” I added, a shiver running through me that had nothing to do with the cold body curled against mine. 

“I really am very sorry, my dear,” Holmes said softly, pressing his lips lightly against my collarbone. 

“You should be,” I replied sternly, holding him even more tightly. He lifted his face to meet my gaze, a gentle smile playing on his lips. 

“I love you,” he said, leaning forward to bump his cold-reddened nose against mine. I laughed and pressed a light kiss to his lips. 

“You’d better,” I replied, grinning as he flushed in response to my attentions. “There is certainly no one else in the world who would tolerate you.” 

“Even if there were another who could, John, I shouldn’t want anyone else in the world,” he said dreamily, returning his head to its secure position at the crook of my neck, and I kissed his damp hair and held him as tightly as the ever-present ache in my shoulder would permit. “I have you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my nonsense! :)


End file.
